The important thing to realize about cars, churches, people, and so much else—and the key to truly enjoying them—is to set aside the desire to have it all. It’s to stop longing for perfection and instead contentedly settle for imperfections. Every person is a whole person, an entire person that is made up of goods and bads, plusses and minuses, laudable strengths and lamentable weaknesses. And so too every church (and every car).

I find few of life’s experiences more exasperating and less rewarding than buying a new car. Among the different brands, there are competing models that vary from one another in only the subtlest ways. And even when you settle on a specific brand and model, there is still the matter of choosing a trim. Inevitably, each trim offers several features you don’t want and lacks several features you do. One trim offers side mirrors that are black instead of the color of the body (I couldn’t care less) but it lacks parking sensors (which I do care about). Another trim has a leather-trimmed shift knob (yawn) but doesn’t have power-adjustable seats (why?). No matter what model you choose, you’ll end up missing some features you’d love and gaining some features you’d rather not have.

I’ve observed that there is a lot in life that comes bundled in a similar way. Church, for example. If you move to a new town and search for a new church, it’s unlikely you will find one that offers everything you’d prefer a church to offer—every doctrine, every emphasis, every association, every ministry, every preference. You may love the music, but wish there was a greater emphasis on liturgy. You may appreciate the effort that goes into evangelism, but lament the lack of effort that goes into youth ministry.

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